


Over, Then Under

by reliand



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Extremely Underage, F/M, Incest, M/M, Sex Trafficking, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliand/pseuds/reliand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek swore he'd only ever take them in and get them home, or sell them off. He wasn't expecting to ever be faced by those bright amber eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over, Then Under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilesanderek (minxxx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxxx/gifts).



> I do not condone this kind of behavior or lack of consent in real life, and this is not meant to be romanticized. Please heed the extreme underage warning

“That one,” Cora says, pointing across the playground to an energetic little boy on the jungle gym. Derek’s lungs stutter and he has to admit, she has an eye for them. Kids with spirit and handsome little faces. “I want a _real_ brother.”

What she means is that she wants someone her age, because Derek is old. 

“Maybe,” Derek says, ruffling her hair that matches Laura’s. Once upon a time it matched dads. “Go play with Lydia.”

She runs off to the swings, pushing her _sister,_ and Lydia’s little braids swing by her ears with the momentum. Derek sees the slight boy on the jungle gym watching with rapt attention, and Derek is helpless to deny Cora anything at that point.

 

 ******

 

“Over then under. Over then under. Under than over—”

“No daddy. Over then under,” Lydia admonishes gently, pausing in her reading. She’s seated at Peter’s feet, red tendrils being pulled into braids that hang against her shoulders.

“Over then under,” Peter chants again, fingers quick and capable despite the damage he’s suffered. His speech stumbles a bit and Lydia cocks her head to listen, presses the side of her face against his knee. Derek squeezes Peter’s shoulder as he walks past; drops a ribbon onto his lap.

“You’re leaving already, Uncle Derek?” Lydia asks, wide eyes looking up at him from over her book. “It’s gonna happen today,” she mutters.

“I’ll be back for lunch, princess,” Derek assures her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “When daddy’s done with your hair, go wake up Laura and your siblings.”

“Scott’s _not_ my brother,” Lydia says with a scowl.

 It’s the same every day.

Derek wakes up for work and listens to Lydia sing herself awake. Uncle Peter always pulls himself out of slumber to her voice. Derek makes himself a cup of coffee, black, dresses for success and kisses Lydia on his way out the door as she argues about who her family is.

She hasn’t accepted Scott, and probably won’t because he’s unlikely to stay. It’s doubtful he’ll stick in the system and he fights Derek tooth and nail. His sweet, round little face belies that he’s the most stubborn kid Derek has ever met. Scott has a great mom, and Laura is positive her case against her husband will be over soon. Unlike some of the other children that have passed through their door. Until then, however, Derek and Laura are responsible for Scott. They took him on so they would only be a brisk, ten minute drive away from Melissa, instead of halfway across the state.

Little Scott McCall came into the group home with bruises all down his back and a sizable knot on his head. A visible reminder of the concussion Rafael McCall gave him. Sheriff Stilinski had appealed to Laura, telling her that Melissa would never defend her husband over this. Derek balked, giving the kid candy, and filling out paperwork that day to bring Scott home. Playing the good person he most definitely is not.

Derek’s good with placement in foster care, but great with kids himself. Dozens have passed through his home before going back to their parents, or more often moved to another family thinking of ‘adoption’, which is why Lydia is wary of calling anyone her brother or sister. They all move on and out eventually. Back to their own families, or new families, or infinitely worse if Derek and Laura find a particularly pretty face.

They all leave Lydia behind.  

Jackson had been the final straw for Lydia. Growing attached only hurt more when they left.

“I know, baby girl,” Derek says, “but let’s treat him like family. Scott needs it until we can get him back to his mom.”

 

 ******

 

Derek spends most days filling and filing paperwork. The slow slide of his pen against paper and the spill of ink across white forms. Names and ages all mushing together in his brain, unless they were his own cases. Other days he was called to investigate a household with suspicion of domestic violence or neglect. The harsh buzz of violence in his ears if Lydia’s little lungs sensed the inevitable and carried all the way to Derek.

It’s hardly ever Laura that calls, but on this day her voice rings through his desk line.

“You need to come down to the precinct,” Laura orders. “Drop what you’re doing. We have a new addition.”

“Already?” Derek asks, because it’s far too soon.

“It can’t be helped, but I know you heard her too,” Laura says, sounding a little sad. “Oh! Bring Cora with you. We might need her.”

Derek takes a deep breath. Bringing Cora means that this is going to be a hard one. He doesn’t even bother cleaning up the paperwork on his desk. All the forms he’ll need are in his trunk, kept there for emergency calls and times like now.

Cora’s a snappy little monster when he loads her into the car, whining about how she doesn’t want to go. Derek has to stop at the Keller gas fill-up before he hits the station to quiet her down. Cora’s got a bag of donuts in her lap and chocolate smeared across her face in no time, and it’s moments like these that he feels like his own parents. He has to wipe her down with wet wipes when they park the car. Derek elects to carry Cora on his hip, but she eyes him like he’s trash for suggesting it and grabs his hand instead, leading the way through the double doors.

It’s utter chaos inside the building. Deputies flying this way and that, phones ringing off the hook. A pair of cops push past them on their way out the door, the smell of misery clinging to their shoulders as they pass. Laura is standing motionless amongst the confusion, a little boy crying next to her hip.  

Cora perks up at Derek’s side.

  ******

 

_Sheriff John Stilinski Dies in the Line of Fire._

It’s not the kind of headline Beacon Hills is used to seeing, and none they are willing to accept, especially since he’s leaving his young son behind.

“Stiles,” the boys sniffles when Derek asks his name. Cora is clinging to Stiles. Holding his hand in hers and brushing back his tears when they start to fall.

“Just a nickname,” Laura supplies helpfully. “Only his mom could pronounce his real name, and she’s been dead since before I was finished at the Academy.” The last part comes out in a whisper, trying not to let the kid hear.

“You can come home with us,” Cora is telling him. Cora is good at her game. She wraps him up in a hug and nuzzles under his chin, and though Stiles might not know why he sighs into it. She passes him donuts in the car, which he’s reluctant to eat at first. “We’ll take good care of you.”

They try to anyway. The funeral is solemn, but Derek hears the whispers of people commenting on, “ _poor little Stiles.”_

“ _No living relatives.”_

“ _Didn’t even cry once_ ,” they say, and Stiles buries his face in the meat of Derek’s thigh when he hears it too. Stiles cried plenty, but all week and well before the sermon. No more salty tears left in those watery eyes. Derek rubs his hand over Stiles’ shorn, fuzzy head, dredging up the smell of wretchedness clinging to his hair, and drags the boy away from the whispers.

 

******

 

Stiles is beautiful and so heartbreakingly sad the first few weeks they have him. Big brown eyes that look too big, and chubby little cheeks that round out his face. He makes the Hales rub their noses when he isn’t looking. Trying to get the stink of woe out of their nostrils.

Peter isn’t very good at hiding it. His nose wrinkles back in distaste and he disappears into Lydia’s room, rubbing his face into her frilly pillows and then later into her lap

Only Scott can get Stiles to play, but he doesn’t smile through it. Lydia won’t go near him. Only eight years old and Stiles is already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

 ******

 

Stiles has a mess of clothing that gets packed in boxes at the Stilinski residence and carted over to the Hale’s, but he must have had a small growth spurt because all his jeans are a little short in the ankle. He gets positively outraged when Derek starts tossing those back into boxes, saying they’ll have to go to charity.

“My daddy bought me those,” Stiles rages, tearing them back out of the cardboard containers. The girls are standing at the edge of the boys’ room, not wanting to interfere with yet another foster kid’s tirade. Scott is on the floor, hugging his knees and smiling, delighted that someone else has taken a disliking to Derek.

“We’ll get you new clothes, buddy,” Derek promises and Stiles glares at him.

“I’m not your buddy,” Stiles says and Scott giggles from the floor. Derek sends him a pointed look to shut him up, which he does, covering his mouth with his hands.

Two hours later and they’re sorting through all the things Stiles picked out. Well, Derek is sorting through it, and nodding along to Cora’s pleas for new clothes too. It’s hard to listen when Derek can hear the whispers of other shoppers.

“There go those Hales again.”

“Do they collect kids?”

“I swear he has more every time I see him.”

Derek scowls, because he only has three out of the house. Lydia elected to stay behind so she could read and keep Peter company. Not that he needs the looking after, but he’s more comfortable with Lydia around.

“Uh huh,” Derek says, turning towards the rack behind him and grabbing the first thing he sees. “What about these Cora? They’ll look beautiful on you.”

Cora bares her teeth at him, “I don’t wear _dresses_!” Derek has to concede her point when he sees the edge of fangs scraping her lips. It’s a losing battle trying to make her and Lydia dress alike. Cora dresses for comfort, where Lydia wants to look polished and pristine.

Derek taps his lips to let her know her teeth are showing, but lets her pick out what she wants. While Cora wrenches T-shirts off hangers, Derek is pretending that he doesn’t see Scott hiding in the clothing rack out of his periphery, waiting for the right moment to strike. He army crawled across the floor a good ten minutes ago, hoping to scare Derek. Stiles is curled up in the bed of the cart, napping on the nest of clothes he grabbed.

When they get to checkout, Derek has to keep swiping candy off the conveyor, much to Cora’s dismay.

“Not when the moon is this high,” he whispers to her and Cora sags in understanding. Scott is holding Derek’s hand. He’s a handful when it’s time to leave the store. Always trying to make a break for it when Derek is distracted.

Stiles sleeps through the entire ordeal, he isn’t even disturbed when Derek has to lift him out of the cart and load him into the Toyota. He sleeps like the dead the whole way home, doesn’t even stir when Derek nuzzles against his face tucking him into his bunk bed.

Laura stops him on his way out of the boys’ bedroom. She’s leaning against the wall, eying Derek seriously. “I never thought you’d be the type,” she whispers and Derek scoffs, tries to move past her down the hallway.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek says.

“Oh please,” Laura laughs. “You’ve never looked at our kids the way you’ve been looking at Stiles.” Derek kind of hates that she’s so observant, but he doesn’t tell her so. That would be admitting she is right. He stays quiet, even as she says, “I’m not judging you. You know I’d never.” Her hand finds his shoulder. A reassuring weight when he feels ashamed for being caught out.

Derek nods, can’t quite respond when his heart is in his throat.

“You could have him, you know,” Laura says. “You could even start helping me prep our special cases,” she says conspiratorially.

“No,” Derek responds, voice firm even if it still feels like it’s lodged in his lungs. “I already do my part.” Laura laughs, hugging him from behind before he disappears into his bedroom.

“I know. It was just a thought.” Laura heads down the hallway, only stopping briefly to peak in the girl’s room and say, “Cora, you’re with me tonight.”

Derek can hear Cora’s petulant huff through the wall, but she comes out a moment later, hair already a rat’s nest. She’ll be in Laura’s room for the next few days, until the moon is on its descent from roundness.

Derek hears her furious wails through the walls every month, only soothed by Laura’s gentle hand. It usually only takes an hour or two, but Cora’s well on her way. Soon she can handle the moon by herself, but until then Laura coaxes her to calmness.

 

 ******

 

By the time Stiles starts to open up, a couple months later, Scott’s going home with his mother. It puts Stiles into a crying fit that has him asking why he can’t go too.

“Scott’s my brother,” Stiles hiccups, because Melissa and John were friends, and thus their kids were as well. “I don’t want to stay with you!” Derek tries to quiet him with a hug but he gets pushed away.

“Don’t touch me!” he screams, face full of fury and cheeks flushed red with anger. Gone is his gloom, replaced by the heat of peppery wrath, which stings Derek’s nostrils.

Honestly, Derek is hurt. He thought Stiles liked him. Sometimes he even sat with Derek when they watched TV.

Lydia is inspecting them from her bedroom door, Peter actually looks intrigued by the exchange. Melissa seems like she’s about to break.

In the end, Melissa promises he can come play anytime, and smatters little kisses over his face. “You’ll be fine here, kiddo. I promise you.”

When she leaves, Stiles collapses to the floor in little sobs and Derek decides he can’t go to work that day. He phones the babysitter to tell him the kids won’t be coming, and then folds himself on to the floor to gather Stiles in his arms. Stiles fights him the entire time.

Cora’s plugging her ears to drown him out, nose wrinkled back in frustration and probably to keep the stench at bay. Cora’s usually the one that opens up to the new kids in the house, but she’s unsure of how to deal with the mess of emotions that Stiles is.

Surprisingly, it’s Lydia that comes forward, stealing him out of Derek’s arms, which makes Derek’s heart clench.

“You can come play in my room,” she offers, the first words she’s spoken to him since he arrived. Lydia’s adamant attitude about pretending Stiles didn’t exist is falling away right in front of Derek. Stiles looks up at her from the floor, red eyes wet, and bottom lip trembling, but he nods.

Cora joins them a little while later, when the heat of Stiles’ anger has burned off and is replaced by something mellower.

When Laura gets home, Derek’s making dinner. She cocks him on the hip and smiles.

“One day you’ll make a great father and _husband,_ ” Laura says, stealing the spoon from his grip to taste the spaghetti sauce. Derek rolls his eyes. He doubts anyone would want to take on him and his kids. He doesn’t know how he’d even be able to part Lydia from Peter. She’s called him dad since she was a tot, even if he’s never been able to take care of her like one. Not like how he took care of Laura, and how Laura later took care of Derek.

“Smells like a warzone in here,” Laura comments. “Where is everyone?”

“Shh,” Derek says, finger against his lips, and leads her to Lydia’s room. They peek inside to see them all huddled around Lydia’s tea set as she dictates who gets what. Stiles looks happier, actually smiling, but that might be the stale cookies that Lydia has set in front of him.

Cora has the entire box.

“Aww, my sweet little monsters,” Laura coos as she steps into the bedroom. Cora screeches and tries to hide the cookies behind her back, Lydia sighs for being interrupted. It becomes a battleground in a minute flat. Laura handcuffing the children for stealing the cookies out of the cupboard and Lydia glaring daggers at having her tea party and dress ruined as a cup of juice lands in her lap.

Derek backs out of the room and finishes boiling pasta. It’s only when he’s portioned out the plates that Laura comes back into the room, children in tow. She wraps Derek up in a hug from behind, mouth against his ear and says, “baby him. He’s going to need some extra attention.”

Derek nods to show he’s listening, even though he’s never believed in playing favorites. Not when so many of the children being sent from his home are going to realize they’re only special in one way. Derek’s never been brave enough to show them what they have to offer.

Laura kisses him on the cheek and grabs the plates in his hand to take to the table.

Dinner leads to bath time, which has Stiles in tears again, because Scott isn’t there to overfill the tub with bubbles and splash around. Derek promises Stiles he’ll play instead. The boy shyly gets undressed, telling Derek, “don’t look.”

It prompts Derek to laugh, a nervous little sound that breaks past his lips. He pretends to squeeze his eyes shut as he leans over the tub to put in the plug.

Stiles’ small hand grips Derek’s shoulder as he climbs over the edge of the tub. Without Scott in there with him, Derek is surprised at how completely dwarfed Stiles looks by its size. It’s already larger than normal, because Laura wanted to spoil them, and what better way to do that with a leisurely soak and jets hitting the knots in their muscles.

Neither of them had a particularly difficult, heavy lifting job, but it was nice. They never had to fight the kids on bath time because it became playtime.

Derek pours a good quarter of the bottle under the spray of the faucet, and Stiles splashes his hands under the surface helping the bubbles rise faster.

Laura would fuss at Derek if she were in here. The foam is up to Stiles’ shoulders before the water even reaches his belly button. Turning the jets on probably didn’t help, but Stiles is smiling. He grabs up handfuls of bubbles, plops them on his own head, and turns his chin into a bearded monstrosity.

“Now I look like you,” Stiles claims proudly and Derek cringes as he turns off the faucet.

“If I look like Santa Claus, then there is something wrong,” Derek says, and he reaches for the bottle of tangle-free shampoo that Lydia and Cora use. Stiles stops him though.

“You said you were going to play with me,” Stiles says, whole face scrunching in distrust.

“We’ll play after. We need to make sure that you get washed up first,” Derek tries to bargain. Stiles is having none of that. He shakes his head, plugs his nose and disappears under the mass of bubbles. Derek sighs and when Stiles reemerges he says, “fine, but only for a little bit.”

“You have to get in with me,” Stiles says. “How are we supposed to play?” It’s a fair question that stiffens Derek’s limbs even as he climbs out of his clothes. His fingers fumble on the button and zip of his jeans.

Derek doesn’t do this.

He hasn’t shared a bath with someone since Laura and he were younger than Stiles is now. When he steps out of his boxer briefs and into the tub, Derek doesn’t miss the flick of Stiles’ eyes as they land between Derek’s legs. Bright amber irises skimming the heavy weight of Derek’s balls and thick cock, before skittering back to the soapsuds. Up and back several times before Derek settles himself under the surface of the water, his hairy thighs and sack out of Stiles’ sight.

Stiles doesn’t mention it, which is fine with Derek. He remembers hearing the girls ask Laura when they were going to look like her. “Are my boobs gonna’ look like that?” Cora asked as Laura was getting changed, and Laura explained that all girls had different boobs. Different bodies.

Lydia came out of the bedroom sporting Laura’s lacy bra over her sundress saying, “I look like a lady now.” Derek had snorted into his cereal.

Stiles doesn’t ask awkward questions about what’s between their separate legs. Instead he entertains himself by pouring cups of water over Derek’s head and then proceeds to pile foam atop his hair. When the bubbles start to disappear he begs Derek to turn on the jets again, so he hits the switch and feels the pummel of water against his back. Stiles cackles in delight as Derek lathers a dollop of shampoo between his palms and scrubs his hands through Stiles’ hair until he’s satisfied. After, he puts soap on a rag and tells Stiles to stand.

“You need to wash yourself.” Stiles does as he’s told…to an extent. He hoists himself up, raises his arms and looks expectantly at Derek.

Derek drags the rag under the boy’s armpits and down his slim tummy. He skips his privates, embarrassed because Stiles is old enough to wash himself, and the kid is clearly not afraid to let Derek see him naked now that they’re sharing the bath. He turns Stiles, washing the boy’s back, the curve of his white, round little butt and between his cheeks. Derek tries pulling Stiles back into a sitting position by his hips, but Stiles doesn’t budge.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks. “I need you to sit so I can wash your feet.”

Stiles is quiet a moment, but he turns his head to look at Derek, chubby little cheeks flushing before he says, “you didn’t wash my thingy.”

“Oh, I must have forgot,” Derek covers. He doesn’t turn Stiles back around, only reaches the washcloth between the boy’s legs, fumbling his hand over Stiles’ crotch. Derek knows that his face is turning red beneath the scruff of his beard, but he tries to be clinical while he washes Stiles; can’t help but notice the pinking of Stiles’ skin. Derek can practically smell his flush, even though soap is trying to mask it. It mostly feels like the fizz of carbonation under his nose, tickling at his nostrils.

Stiles escapes back into the cover of water as soon as Derek pulls his hand from between his legs. Derek would almost say the move is shy, but he turns his body towards Derek a moment later and pounces, dumping a cup of water over Derek’s head. Water streams down Derek’s face and in his eyes. He has to spit out the dirty water that got in his mouth.

Stiles is grinning ear to ear.

Derek grabs Stiles by the ankle and yanks the poor kid under the water, lightning fast. Stiles surfaces a second later, sputtering, looking highly offended. He launches at Derek before he knows what’s happening, little body trying to use its weight to push Derek under. Derek presses his hands against the edge of the tub to help keep himself up.

Stiles is making a game of trying to dunk Derek under the water, and Derek meanly doesn’t budge an inch, because he’s a bastard and Stiles should have to fight if he wants to win this one.

Stiles shoves at him, small fingers digging into the flesh of Derek’s shoulders. Hands press up against his chest and still Derek doesn’t move. At one point, he feels the sting of teeth bite into the skin of his neck. Derek’s instinct is to raise his hackles. Put the pup back in his place for trying to dominate Derek in such a way, but Stiles doesn’t know any better, and it’s not as if Derek truly minds anyway since the second thing he does is release a shuddery breath.

His hands come away from the tub, instead grabbing hold of Stiles, gathering the boy against his chest, breathing in the smell of soap and frustration. Stiles goes soft in his grip, teeth letting go of the tendon in Derek’s throat. The boy slides down as he relaxes, sitting fully in Derek’s lap.

Stiles is so tiny against him, less than half Derek’s size. His little torso keeps expanding and contracting as he breathes, puffs of air cooling Derek’s skin. His nipples pebble, and Stiles lifts a curious hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across one. Derek’s pectoral muscle twitches, causing Stiles to laugh and pinch the little bud between his fingers.

It comes unexpectedly when Derek bucks his hips, and his hard cock pushes up between Stiles’ legs, right along his crack.

Stiles goes rigid.

“What’s that?” he asks, voice the picture of innocence and Derek whines because this is all kinds of wrong and that sweet little voice makes it so much worse, but he clutches Stiles to him and bucks again. Just once more before he releases him. He pushes Stiles away and puts his hands over his crotch to hide his cock, even though the layer of bubbles will do the job fine.

Derek lets Stiles splash around after that, but Stiles is watching him curiously, amber eyes alight with something that Derek is not quite sure of. He doesn’t make Stiles get out until his fingers and toes have pruned, water cloudy from too much bubble bath. Derek opens a large, fluffy towel and Stiles steps out of the tub into its warmth. He has his eyes glued to Derek’s soft dick even as Derek wraps the towel around Stiles shoulders, rubbing it down the boy’s arms, lifting it to scrub over his hair. There are little rivulets that are escaping down the sides of his face and neck, but Derek stops them in their tracks and bops Stiles on the nose, distracting him from looking at what is hanging between Derek’s legs and making the boy smile.

“Okay buddy. I’m gonna let you finish drying off and you can go get dressed. Your pajamas are on your bed.”

The click of the handle sounds behind Derek as he pulls a towel down from the rack and starts drying himself.

 

******

 

Lydia was their first.

A tiny little toddler with hair a bright mane of Princeton orange.

They heard her screeching wail well before the crunch of metal on metal upon metal. They were in the woods, trying to reacclimatize Peter to his surroundings, but they got distracted by the sound of a never-ending scream and then came the pileup.

It’s Peter who pulled Lydia out of the mangled car, paying no mind to all the other injured people. Screams only silenced when he huddled her close to his chest. Shushing her into silence as he pressed their foreheads together.

It was a few minutes before the squad cars came. Dancing lights of red and blue casting across the trees and a young deputy’s face as he held the hand of Lydia’s older sister. She died waiting for the paramedics, parents already lifeless in the front seat, telling the young deputy to, “go be with her.”

He didn’t leave and his young wife died in the hospital later that evening. Derek remembers hearing the deputy sobbing a floor above them as Lydia was being attended to by a doctor.

Little Lydia belonged to the Hales within a year, but they knew she was theirs as soon as her sister’s blood went acrid and cold. Her wails a sign of impending doom to her own family, but a gift to people like Derek and Laura, who were trying to rebuild their own.

Lydia became a little beacon of prediction.

Her little lungs would find them prey. Forecasting the dead was her forte, it was just a shame when it was a child instead of the parents that raised the call of her gift. Most ended up in group homes before they were sent out to families, but these days Derek and Laura made the majority of their money by losing kids in the system. One or two a year and always children that wouldn’t raise suspicion. It’s not like they needed a lot, after the insurance payouts of their own parents, but Laura insisted.

Cora was best at picking the pretty ones. She’d picked Stiles once.

When they were playing on a playground and his wide tawny eyes found hers across the bars of the jungle gym.

Stiles was high profile though, and Cora was denied her request, even if didn’t matter in a few months’ time. There would be no losing Stiles in the system, not that Derek had even considered it. Stiles was beautiful. Too beautiful and Derek wanted to baby him, to give him the extra attention that Laura was permitting him tonight.  

 

 ******

 

Bath time was supposed to be the end of it, but then Stiles is peeking around Derek’s doorframe an hour after the kids are sent to bed.

Derek catches him out of the corner of his eye. The shift in movement just over the edge of his book, and Derek’s eyes flick up, catching Stiles in their gaze.

“I can’t sleep without Scott,” Stiles says, bottom lip poking out in a pout. His eyes look wet, even in the low light all the way across the room.

“Come on,” Derek says, patting the spot next to him. Stiles doesn’t need to be told twice. He hops up on the bed, crawling up the mattress until he flips back the covers and snuggles under them. Derek smiles down at him. Stiles is cocooning into the blankets, eyes already closed and contented sigh leaving his lungs.

Derek sets his book on the nightstand, turns off the light, and lays down next to Stiles. He smells so clean and capricious that Derek doesn’t dare wrap himself around the boy. Stiles didn’t even want Derek touching him this morning, but begged him into the bathtub after dinner. There’s no telling if the boy would push him away and burst into tears again, or if he’d press back into Derek’s chest.

 

******

 

Derek wakes up to gentle fingers sliding across his sack. The band of his sleep pants pulled down under his balls. It’s the tender caress of curious hands that are afraid of getting caught, even as they wrap around Derek’s knob. He’s already proud below the navel, even if he missed the waking moments of getting hard.

Stiles’ hot breath puffs out against his skin and he doesn’t mean to arch his hips, but he can feel his pubes move with the rush of air. Stiles face ends up in the crease of his thigh, hand still gripping dick, and Derek can’t help but groan.

He lifts his hand to press it to the back of Stiles’ head, against his shorn hair that is a reminder of the little boy he is, and Derek holds him into his groin. Stiles goes still, breathes against him, lips shaky against Derek.

“Put it in your mouth,” Derek whispers, too afraid to say it louder. Too afraid that Stiles will hear him.

He does.

“I can do that?” Stiles asks. Derek can feel the flutter of Stiles’ lashes against his hip as he tries to lift his head. “Does it taste funny?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, but he directs Stiles’ head, turning it so his face is pressed against Derek’s hard cock. “I showered. It’s clean,” he urges, which is good enough for Stiles because he gobbles it down like a treat. What he can fit in his mouth anyway.

Mouth made for a dick.

It reminds Derek of the giant jawbreaker Derek bought for him. Stiles greedily shoved the entire thing in his mouth just to prove that he could. Unhinged his jaw like a fucking snake.

Stiles doesn’t complain when Derek tries to hump up into his mouth. Derek’s got one hand on his dick, stopped up at the point where Stiles can take him in, and the other is on Stiles’ head. Stiles is mostly drooling around his dick. A heavy wetness that slides down his cock and clings to Derek’s fingers. Saliva pools around his hand, and Stiles whorls his tongue around the head trying to catch it up.

He comes up for air, looks directly up at Derek and says, “Like a popsicle.” Then he presses the flat of his tongue against Derek’s urethra, catching the salt of Derek’s spunk as he blows his load all over the kid’s face and mouth.

Derek doesn’t rest a moment. He flips their positions so Stiles is on his back and Derek is between his legs. His pajama pants come off easy as pie, and he’s only eight but his body is responding just like Laura promised the other children’s did.

His batman underoos are tented in the front. Emblem of heroism pointing straight at Derek, because Stiles is hard.  His little baby dick is standing at attention, and Stiles pulls at it. Can’t quite keep his hands off his prick because he’s a boy and their favorite game is touching themselves. 

Derek shoves Stiles’ underwear down and swallows the boy down all at once. Stiles hips curl up towards the ceiling. He’s chasing the suction of Derek’s mouth, feet flat against the bed, and knees next to Derek’s shoulders.

When Stiles orgasms, it’s dry; too young to produce semen and he nearly cries because of the overstimulation. Derek isn’t sure Stiles has even finished until he swats at Derek’s shoulders, sobbing. Derek pulls off, crawls up Stiles’ body to kiss at his mouth, lick his own drying spunk off the boy’s face.

Stiles lets him. Doesn’t push him away because he’s far too tired. He’s all loose and sodden down with sleep and Derek bets he could fuck him through unconsciousness if he were only a little older. Trying to fit himself up inside Stiles’ tight, tiny body might break him though, and Derek’s doesn’t want to hurt him.

He wants to give Stiles the whole world.

 

******

 

"Derek,” Laura coos, “I didn’t realize.” She’s leaning in the doorframe, eyes all knowing. Although, to miss what’s going on between him and Stiles, she’d have to be an idiot.

Derek fixes the sheet that has fallen below Stiles’ waist as he slept. He keeps his eyes away from Laura, ashamed of himself. She won’t take him in, no matter the nuance of her being an upstanding member of the law, but the bite of her knowing what Derek has been up to stings. She must see the shame on his face because she moves forward.

“Derek,” Laura starts, “you love him. Shouldn’t he be shown how much?”

Derek isn’t so sure, no matter how much Stiles seemed to enjoy himself last night. As if on cue, Stiles curls into Derek’s side, face smashed against the muscle of his abdomen.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Laura says, gripping Derek’s ankle briefly in encouragement.  The door closes behind her and Stiles’ big amber eyes blink blearily up at Derek. His face goes pink with shyness when he realizes he’s naked. He practically pulls the sheet up to his chin in his haste to hide his skin, but he smiles at Derek. A secret little smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. Derek wants nothing more than to kiss at it.

The smell of Stiles’ content, a heady delicious delight that fills Derek’s lungs, is what does Derek in. He rolls on top of Stiles, burying his face against the boy’s neck, sucking little marks into his collarbone. Stiles giggles, holds Derek to him like a child hugging his favorite stuffed animal, which gets Derek hard and ready and rutting against Stiles’ skinny legs and tummy. Dragging his dick against skin and barely developed muscle. He comes all over the boy again, and knows he’s going to have to throw him in the tub sometime today. Hopefully not early, because he wants to be able to scent his own seed hanging all around Stiles.

He sucks Stiles off again, presses his pinkie up against the whorl of his pretty pink pucker. Derek presses in tiny increments of pressure. He doesn’t push in, just gives Stiles the vague idea of what is eventually going to happen between them. A taste.

A promise.

 

 ******

 

Lydia doesn’t belong to Peter. It’s the other way around.

As soon as she is old enough to know what she wants, she crawls in his lap, legs thrown on either side of his hips. The fall of her skirt covers what they’re doing, but their moans give them away. Peter’s clutching at her, head thrown back against the sofa.

Derek remembers Laura doing the same thing to him. She hasn’t touched him since they were teenagers, but Laura knows what she wants. Always has. Lydia’s following right along in her footsteps.

Derek’s never touched the children of the house. Not until Stiles. Laura would lead them back into her bedroom, whispering about _secret time_.

“Come play with mommy,” she says. Or, “show me what you learned in school today.” And then she shows them a little more than they bargained for. Laura made it a game, and that’s how she got away with doing it, without the fear of being found it. When you made it fun for children…when you gave them candy and presents and orgasms, then they were bound to love you. Laura knew the way into their heart was right through the seam of their pants.

They didn’t mind playing grownup games when they were getting tingles all the way down to their toes.

Lydia is fourteen and so fucking horny that it’s hardly a surprise the first time Derek walks in on her riding Peter’s face. He’s been listening to her frig herself through the walls for weeks. Eventually, she was going to catch on. Now she’s writhing in Peter’s lap; Peter rucking up her skirt, showing off her bare ass and thighs.

When he comes, he goes still all at once. Muscles taut along his legs and arms, face screwed up in pleasure. Lydia’s making a noise between approval and reproach, probably angry that he came inside her, but Derek put her on the pill months ago. Peter shudders once more, and then he’s pulling Lydia off his dick, fumbling her down on the couch so he can get between her legs. He has his face buried in her cunt in moments.

Stiles is mortified that he gets a boner from watching. They listen to the slick slide of Peter’s tongue against Lydia’s slit; watch as she folds her knees up against her chest. Derek can smell the come that Peter’s licking out of her. He’s ravenous for it, sucking at her wet lips and labia.

“Over, then under,” Peter says against her.

“Yeah, daddy,” Lydia whines.

Stiles goes from zero to hard in less than a minute, grinding his hard little dick into the meat of Derek’s thigh before he takes Derek’s hand to pull him back into their bedroom.

Stiles hasn’t slept in his own bed in years.

**Author's Note:**

> This might. MIGHT become a verse eventually, because I'm extremely interested in exploring these dynamics further


End file.
